The Gift of the Magus
by Persephone Kore
Summary: Sixth in Time's Riddle, with Alan Sauer. The holidays are coming, and as friends and family gather, Tom believes he has nothing to give. But before Christmas morning an unusual Father Christmas with stranger helpers will show him otherwise....
1. Chapter 1 of 4

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling. No undue claim nor material profit is intended. _

Authors' note: As usual, this is the next installment of the Time's Riddle series. Quick review for new readers -- alternate timeline diverging after Chamber of Secrets. Voldemort came back to life prematurely but was replaced by an illusion of twelve-year-old Tom Riddle that turned out to be real enough to want to be THE real one and accept Harry's help to this end. He and Ginny have become friends, largely out of self defence since Snape made them sit together in Potions. Due to the arrival of the boa constrictor Harry let out of the zoo, Sirius was captured when he sneaked into Gryffindor Tower, and the truth of the matter came out. This should all make much more sense now.

**The Gift of the Magus  
by Alan Sauer  
and Persephone  
Chapter 1**

There were very few people in the library as the Christmas holidays approached, and fewer books than usual. Even Hermione Granger had checked out enough books to make a stack or two approximately her own height and withdrawn in their company into Gryffindor tower; Ginny had conveyed this interesting image to Tom, who was now, between reading a herbal whose scented pages seemed to have gone off at some point, engaging in idle speculation as to whether it had been accomplished via several trips, illicit use of magic in the corridors, or the simple expedient of recruiting two friends to divide the load. 

A soft hiss slithered across the library and made Tom look up and Ginny nearly upset her ink. 

Tom reached over and clapped the ink-bottle hastily and firmly upright on the table, arching an eyebrow at Harry across the library. "That," he whispered when Harry was close enough, "wasn't even words!"

"Oops." Harry shrugged and settled into an extra chair in an attitude that suggested he was about to take off into the air without benefit of a broomstick. "I have a question."

"Laudable state of being, in a school." Tom grinned. "What is it?" 

"Sirius found a house."

Tom blinked. "That isn't a question." 

"Er, no. The question was if you'd like to come spend the Christmas holidays there. To both of you," Harry added hastily. 

"That would be great! I'd been planning to haunt the library most of the time. You're asking Ron and Hermione as well, I assume." Tom glanced over at Ginny, who looked rather like someone had hit her between the eyes with _The Monster Book of Monsters._ "Ginny?" he prompted, stifling a grin. "Are you going to come?" 

"I already asked them," Harry explained, his own eyes flicking to Ginny before he gestured broadly in the probable direction of the tower. "And the boa. It's you second-years I had to come hunting."

"Does Sirius have enough rolls, then? And we can't have been _that_ hard to find." 

"I'd like to come too, yes," Ginny finally managed to reply. "Thank you very much."

"Good, and no, you weren't really. And I think we can manage the rolls."  


"Should be fun, then. Thanks for the invitation." 

"You're welcome. You might want to look out though." Harry bounced back to his feet and added just before he left, "From the stories, Sirius used to be a lot like the twins."

Ginny looked at Tom and put up her eyebrows. "These are obviously different stories."

"Well, I think the ones Sirius tells himself are probably likely to be pretty different from the ones the Ministry told about him, yes," Tom said, grinning. "You should get along pretty well, though, if he's right, being a combat veteran and all." 

She laughed. "At least there's only one of him!"

"True." He cocked his head. "Took you kind of a long time to decide, though. Did you want to go home instead?" 

She blushed faintly. "No, I was just startled."

"Well, I'd say he's really looking forward to having a home he can invite friends to.. And you've known him longer than I have, so it's no surprise he'd invite you when he did me." 

"Oh... I think he talks with you more, really. But it's very nice of him."

"Well, he did specifically invite both of us." Tom smiled a bit wistfully. "I think he's really excited to have a home."

Ginny nodded with a quietly sympathetic smile of her own; they both knew Tom was not exactly likely to have old guardians appearing out of odd locations at this point. "I'm sure he is. Surprised, too, I think."

"Considering that six weeks or so when he thought Sirius was trying to kill him, you mean? And to think, I thought I had an eventful school year."

"...You _are_ an event."

"Yes, for all the wrong reasons." Tom shook his head. "Never mind me. I should be happy for him. I _am._"

"_Not_ all the wrong reasons." Ginny wrapped a hand firmly around his wrist. "You decided not to be like that and you _won_."

"I know. I'm just being crabby for no good reason, that's all. Christmas at Harry's will be nice."

"And I still need to owl Mum and Dad about this summer -- I suppose we _won't_ have Harry at the same time, then." Ginny nibbled her lower lip and offered, "_I_ think you're a very good event."

"Thanks. For both. And he'll probably still be over a lot, it's not like Sirius is going to keep him locked up."

"Well, no." Ginny shook her head. "When the twins went to get him at the start of last year, they had to pull _bars_ out of the window."

"Ugh. What are they so afraid of?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

"Well, if anything, all he's got to worry about now is being spoiled out of his mind." Tom shook his head. "I don't think I've ever seen him that... bouncy."

"Neither had I."

Tom grinned slightly. "Well, I don't imagine I'll be imposing on _him_ too much, really, if he's that gleeful about it."

Ginny looked up at him again sharply, the tiniest of lines drawn between her eyebrows. "You won't be imposing on _us_ either, if that's what you're thinking."

"Well, I thought I'd help out with the chores and things, to work my way."

Her mouth opened for a moment before any sound came out. "Well, we all _do_ that, yes. Harry would probably tell you this eventually, but a word of advice -- don't bother feeling sorry for the gnomes." Tom blinked at her as she hesitated a moment before continuing, "But I didn't mean for you to think of it as if you had to -- to pay for it that way." She flushed again. "If that's what you meant."

"Your mum and dad should get _something_ for keeping me fed and housed all summer."

"Listen." Ginny glanced around the library and lowered her voice a bit further. "If you've been hearing from Malfoy he exaggerates and you _know_ his views are skewed." She caught her lip with her teeth briefly before adding, "And if you've heard Ron complain, well, _I_ think he's especially sensitive about hand-me-downs because he gets them next to last and he's _taller_ than everybody. We don't get to be all that extravagant very often, but that doesn't mean we aren't all right, and considering how many of us there are, one more is _not_ a problem. I want you to come, all right? You're my friend, and I'm sure they'll say yes, and you'll help out but it'll be just like all the rest of us do."

"I know all that. Really." Tom sighed. "It just feels... weird, is all."

"Well, I feel very silly now," Ginny muttered, but she did sit back and relax slightly. "I suppose it would. And I have been slow owling them because working out exactly how to ask, after some of my letters earlier, is a little odd. But just... don't worry. Really." She grinned at him. "Once we get to know you it all works out."

"I figured it was something like that. And I hope you're right."

"I am." She smiled again, then looked at the time. "Oh -- I'm going to have to go. I promised Colin an extra pair of hands with some new photography potions he wanted to try. Supposedly these don't smell when they're brewing."

"Brilliant. Go help him, the world needs you."

Ginny laughed and picked up her things. "I'll see you later." 

She hurried from the library, leaving him alone to think.

Tom waited until she was well out of sight, then hauled his bag out from under the table. It was one thing to have ineptly-manufactured homemade Christmas presents for people when you didn't have to watch them pretend they weren't... well, things improperly transfigured out of bits of stuff no one would miss.

It was quite another when you'd been _invited_ to a friend's brand new house to spend Christmas with his brand new family. Unfortunately, this didn't change the essential fact that he'd been brought forward in time (or recreated, whichever explanation fit best) with two Knuts and a scuffed Muggle penny in his pockets.

In short, he _had_ to learn fifth-year Transfiguration before the holidays.

He set a piece of owl down on the table, concentrated very hard, and muttered a quick incantation--and then sighed when, halfway toward looking like a proper quill, it exploded in a small burst of fluff. This was going to be a very long two weeks.

It was a very long two hours he spent working on it before dinner, undisturbed the entire time and -- he thought -- unremarked. 

He never noticed when his old Transfiguration professor stood and watched him in silence for several minutes, and no motion caught his eye when Dumbledore turned in a swirl of bright robes and walked away with purposeful steps, deep in thought.


	2. Chapter 2 of 4

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling. No undue claim nor material profit is intended._

**The Gift of the Magus  
by Alan Sauer  
and Persephone  
Chapter 2**

Sirius Black clearly did have strange powers after all. This, at least, seemed to be the only possible explanation for how he could have found and arranged to purchase the only house in wizarding Britain _more_ confusing than Hogwarts. 

At least, Tom rather hoped that was the case, since if this sort of thing was standard he might have to apply to become a teacher once he finished school just so he could spend most of the year someplace vaguely comprehensible. It was very daunting when the third thing he noticed upon entering a house (after counting the walls and discovering the room was heptagonal, and noting that the fireplace periodically flicked small rainbows out onto the hearth) was.... 

"Where," Harry asked, twisting his head around in what Tom was relieved to note looked like equal bewilderment, "are the _doors_?"

"Oh, they're here," Black said, after seemingly popping out of thin air behind the coatrack. "You just can't see them. Great house, this." Grinning wide enough to rupture something, he added "Welcome home, Harry." 

Harry beamed back; Tom squinted suspiciously at the coatrack. "What is this," Harry asked, laughing, "the only way to get out of this room is a secret passage?"

"The only way to get out of _any_ of the rooms is a secret passage." Their host laughed in evident delight. "I don't know who built the place but I could shake his hand. And for some reason, no one else wanted it." He patted his right trouser pocket. "I've been doing a little exploring since I got the place, and Remus helped out with some fairly good maps you can use until you get the hang of things. He'll be along soon; said between helping me house-hunt and _somebody's_ essays, he hadn't had time to shop properly yet." 

Everyone, naturally, looked at Hermione. She blushed. Tom decided to let her have all the blame, so to speak; she might even deserve it. 

Maps. Now that was a relief. Black passed out little rolls of parchment; Tom sneaked a glance at the rest while he unrolled his. Ron and Ginny had looked at each other and started laughing, but didn't seem too fazed; Hermione looked intrigued beyond measure and was practically vibrating in place as she waited for her map. The boa was looking over Harry's shoulder.

Tom looked down at his unrolled parchment. It was blank. 

Harry snickered. "Password?"

"Help, help," Black said dryly, "I'm trapped in a madhouse." 

Harry blinked and then had to try three times to activate his map without bursting into laughter. 

Tom managed his without quite so much trouble and under the private suspicion that it might be the absolute truth, and blinked when a tangle of ink lines faded into view and resolved into a detailed blueprint -- including the house's current occupants, as tiny labeled dots. He poked at his own name, half-expecting to feel a nudge. "This is amazing work, Mr. Black." 

"Sirius." The correction sounded automatic and seemed to surprise both of them slightly. "And, well... it was a lot easier than setting up the same thing for Hogwarts, I'll tell you that."

Tom found himself grinning. "You had a map of all the secret passages in Hogwarts? _That_ must have been handy." 

"I'm sure we missed a _few_. The castle cooperated with us sometimes more than others."

"Still. What happened to it?" 

"Got confiscated by Filch."

"And then the Weasley twins found it in his office. I've got it now," Harry added. He chuckled. "I was thinking about telling them who Mr. Padfoot is as a Christmas present. You've apparently been their role models." 

Sirius looked mischievous. "Maybe I should bring them here and see how they do for a little while _without_ the maps."

"May we watch?" Ginny asked instantly. 

"How could I refuse a guest? Come on in -- the living room is through this bit of paneling over here." Sirius did something to the indicated wall that made a section slide to the right, revealing a short tunnel. "Can I get anyone something to drink?" 

Tom frowned at his map as he followed through the passageway, the boa slithering alongside them all; he'd seen something flicker as he approached the paneling, but the writing had disappeared before he could read it. He looked up quickly at the offer but waited until they'd reached their destination and everyone else had made their requests before siding with Hermione and asking for milk rather than butterbeer.

The living room was surprisingly homey -- Tom wasn't sure what he'd expected, but somehow well-padded armchairs and a couch that was as comfortable as it was ugly, which was saying a great deal, hadn't been it.

The room was dominated, however, by a very large, very full, very green Christmas tree, as yet undecorated. They all stared at it a bit curiously until Sirius climbed out from under the couch with drinks, smiled, and said softly, "My family always used to decorate the tree together." 

Tom fleetingly wondered if that meant the rest of them were supposed to help or not, but thought it probably meant everyone.... He was distracted and had to smother a laugh when the boa murmured, "As long as I'm not sssupposed to be a garland."

"You have decorations?" Harry asked, a little more quietly than before. 

Sirius opened the lone normal-looking door (well, it would have looked normal if it hadn't been set flush against the ceiling instead of the floor) and took out a box. "An odd collection, but yes. Some of them are --" He flushed slightly. "Well, I didn't run completely mad all at once, after I gave you to Hagrid, Harry. I grabbed a few things James and Lily wouldn't have wanted picked over by people. They've been in my vault at Gringotts." 

Harry's eyes widened. "You mean they're -- some of these --" He swallowed. 

"Yeah." Sirius took a slightly-yellowed cardboard box out of the larger one. "Your mum charmed some of these. And the little broomstick was from -- well, the three of us, for your first Christmas, because Lily wouldn't let you on a real one yet." 

Tom snorted. "I know he flies like he was born to it, but somehow I think she was probably right."

Sirius blinked innocently. "Well, nobody was planning on showing him the Wronski Feint or anything. Really. Not even James." 

"I thought Dad played Chaser."

"He did, but he'd learn broomstick maneuvers just for the hell of it. Not that he ever needed an _excuse_ to go flying." 

"Well." Harry's eyes were a little distant. "Who _would_?"

"Sane people," Hermione said tartly. 

Sirius fished out a long strand of glittery popcorn that smelled like fresh butter and draped it over her hair. "What fun is that? But come on -- Remus should be here any minute, so we might as well get all of you settled in and have time for the tree before dinner."

*****

Professor Lupin did arrive in short order, and it turned out that decorating the _tree_ didn't take enough time -- with all of them helping -- even to approach dinner. Decorating the entire house, on the other hand, sent them all scrambling through enough improbable passageways that Tom had stopped checking the map more than once every four trips or so by the time they all stood surveying their handiwork and its reflection in the darkened windows. He felt slightly better about his gift efforts on seeing that quite a few of the ornaments were obviously of almost wholly sentimental value and a number of those were homemade too -- but only slightly.

Harry and Sirius were just heading, in animated conversation, toward the passageway to the kitchen when a burst of harmonious chiming from every direction introduced Tom to the fact that someone, at some point, had managed to connect all the bells they'd strung about the house to the door-knocker.

They all piled back through the passageway to the front room; Sirius swung the front door wide and gasped, "Professor Dumbledore!"

"I'm sorry. Have I arrived at a bad time?" Dumbledore regarded him in amusement. "You seem to be slightly winded."

"No, no, we were just getting ready to do something about dinner, and I changed direction abruptly. Er -- would you like to join us? Please come in."

"I actually thought you would have eaten already --"

"Well, no, we just finished decorating the tree. And the house." Sirius grinned and waved a hand at the bells dancing across the ceiling. 

"Then I shall certainly join you." Dumbledore took in the front room and all its occupants with an expression of great amusement. "I must say, you've done wonders for this old place."

"Fantastic, isn't it?" Sirius agreed happily. "Delighted to have you. I ought to warn you, though, I never _did_ learn how to cook...."

"I do remember that, Sirius. Nevertheless, I believe I shall risk it. And may I be the first to wish you a very happy Christmas indeed."

"And the same to you. Right. Kitchen's this way, the dining room's through that painting...."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Good old Conrad Seale. He was a classmate of mine, you know. Ravenclaw. Quite mad, but an excellent bowler."

"He made this place? Why am I not surprised you knew him! Sir," Ron blurted. 

"I believe your brother Percy has considered me a bit mad for some time, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Perhaps you've been listening to him?"

Ron flushed slightly. Ginny piped up, "Well, he does seem to think it's a very admirable sort of madness, Professor."

"I've certainly done my best not to disappoint him over the years." Dumbledore smiled. "Now, I believe there was some mention of dinner?"

"Right." Sirius rubbed his hands together and led the way to the kitchen, which Tom couldn't help feeling was partly upside down. (He was proved correct when crossing to the other side of the room resulted in being abruptly flipped so that everyone else was, in fact, upside down from his own perspective.) 

Dinner proved that if Sirius could not cook, he could at least take this fact into account and arrange to provide food that was edible anyway. He could also, apparently, remember how much Hogwarts-age children were capable of eating and had stocked his kitchen and pantry accordingly.

Afterward, the group went by various routes back to the living room, where Dumbledore managed to mortify both other adults with stories of their Hogwarts careers they'd never guessed he knew. Sirius finally surrendered the field by declaring it time for bed. 

Tom yawned involuntarily, then consulted his map and climbed up an invisible spiral staircase in the corner by the bookshelves. The words "Keep going" appeared encouragingly as he approached the ceiling, and he found that he went right through.

He had just taken a short slide downward and was starting toward the exit into his room when Dumbledore's voice startled him nearly out of his wits. "Pardon me. May I have a word?" 

"Of course, Professor." Tom cocked his head curiously. "Is this why you came to dinner tonight? To have a word?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Dumbledore arched an eyebrow. "Would you care to divine its topic as well?"

Tom shook his head and grinned. "Wouldn't know where to start, and I don't know if I'm going to take Divination next year. Harry and Ron don't seem to like it much."

"Hmm." A thoughtful look over the half-moon glasses. "What electives are you considering then? Care of Magical Creatures, by any chance?"

"Well... yes, actually. I think so. And Arithmancy, and either Ancient Runes or Muggle Studies. Both, if they don't conflict with anything.

Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Three _is_ the ordinary complement, but it should be possible to manage one more. Excellent choices all." 

"I mostly want Muggle Studies because, well, I missed out on all those years of history, and most of it's Muggle history -- but even if I'm _not_ taking Divination I'm pretty sure this wasn't the word you wanted to have." He paused. "No matter how... reassuring... my class choices might be."

"Were I inclined to be suspicious," Dumbledore pointed out with a smile, "I would surmise that you had made them for precisely that reason. In fact, I might point you to some alternate sources -- you may find that Muggle Studies is not greatly weighted toward history, recent or otherwise, though it may present something of a helpful perspective on current events. But you're quite right; while I'm glad to discuss your curriculum, I actually came here to request that you accompany me on an errand tomorrow, if you're free."

"I'm on holiday," Tom pointed out. "And I've already done enough of my homework that I don't need to worry about it." He blinked. "What sort of errand?"

Dumbledore leaned back against the wall and regarded him thoughtfully. "I am well aware that it is something of a concern of yours to differentiate yourself from Lord Voldemort, and rightly so," he began. Tom wondered uneasily where on earth this could be going. "I know that you are not he. I have also determined, however, that for a number of reasons it might be expedient to persuade the administration of Gringotts that for their purposes you _are_."

"...What do you mean, sir?"

"Precisely what I say. The goblins are businessmen, Mr. Riddle, and their concerns are their own -- and do not, generally speaking, include the moral character or legal status of their patrons with respect to any other system. Voldemort could not have done all he did without funding, nor, for that matter, without acquiring a fair accumulation of assets. Currently, if anyone has access to those, it is likely to be some of his more trusted associates. You may agree, I think, that this is not exactly an agreeable state of affairs for the rest of us."

"And you think the accounts would be under the name Tom Riddle."

"I believe that at least one vault is. Others are probably under a variety of creative aliases, or none at all; I would not be remotely surprised if some are under the name of Voldemort. He would not, after all, have been likely to want any one representative to have access to every reservoir." Dumbledore pushed his glasses up his long, crooked nose. "You, on the other hand, if the goblins should accept your person as equivalent to his, would have access to them all. Including the ability to shut off the access of others -- and possibly to learn their identities, though I'm less certain of that."

"All right. What time should I be ready tomorrow?"

"Will ten o'clock do? Be sure to eat a good breakfast; I took the liberty of opening investigation of the matter on your behalf, but this could still be a long conversation."

"I will."

"Excellent. Good night." The Headmaster gave him a half-bow and vanished.

Tom nodded, and trudged the rest of the way back to his room. He lay for a while on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Even if it was for a good cause -- and this was definitely good; Tom hated to think what Voldemort's followers were doing with that money -- he felt itchy at the prospect of claiming that identity, as if he'd just put on a filthy cloak.

He firmly squelched the little voice that pointed out that if there were quite a lot of money, surely he could use some of it for real Christmas presents.

The voice didn't squelch easily, and Tom was a long time falling asleep.

*****


	3. Chapter 3 of 4

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter books by J. K. Rowling. No undue claim nor material profit is intended._

**The Gift of the Magus  
by Alan Sauer  
and Persephone  
Chapter 3**

Tom began the next morning feeling rather nervous about the stomach and, due to the memory of all the jokes about Sirius's cooking, drowsily bewildered by the smell of bacon that had somehow permeated the house. The map presented him with the route to the kitchen, which contained a dot labeled "Harry Potter," who proved to be responsible for the bacon. Harry was, in fact, peering at the bacon with what Tom felt was an undue amount of suspicion.

"Morning." Tom yawned. "Is it likely to jump out of the pan?"

"What? Oh, no -- it hasn't tried to, anyway. I just don't want to burn it."

"You'll want to turn the stove off right before it goes black, then, I expect."

Harry snorted. "Thank you, that's helpful. I _have_ cooked bacon before."

"That's good to know. At least you and Sirius won't starve." Tom smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. Did you?"

Tom shrugged. "It's a comfortable bed." He paused, then added "Professor Dumbledore's picking me up around ten to run an errand, I might be gone most of the day."

"I heard him say something about that to Sirius. Sirius asked if he'd given in and promised Snape he'd rescue you from the den of lions, or something like that."

"No, it's... Christmas shopping." Well, they _were_ going to give Voldemort's followers a sort of Christmas present, if not one they wanted. "He said to get a good breakfast beforehand."

"I'll see what I can do. If you want rolls, there are lots in the breadbox. More than it looks like there's room for," Harry added helpfully. "Sirius said he measured the boa and multiplied the number of inches by eleven."

Tom laughed. "Probably a good idea. I wonder how he's managing the passages."

"You know, I haven't asked, but he turned up under the rug in my room this morning and _I_ can't find one there, so I don't think he's having any trouble."

"Conrad Seale must have been a very strange man." Tom shook his head. "Anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

Harry blinked, then hastily returned his attention to the bacon and rescued it onto a plate. "Would you mind making toast? We'll be having eggs, too, but two people at the stove might be asking for trouble."

"I can manage toast." Tom consulted his map just to be sure, and was relieved to note that the flap labeled "bread box" did indeed lead to the bread box. He located the toaster in similarly short order. "Hard to believe the year's only half over," he said once he'd started the first two slices.

"I know. It's been very... er... eventful." Harry paused, then grinned, looking much less wary of the bacon's intentions. "It's probably because you got Voldemort out of the way at the _start_ of the year, and then it turned out Sirius wasn't Dark after all."

"I'll try not to upset the schedule next year. When are we _supposed_ to defeat Dark Wizards?" Tom grinned. "And I'm glad Sirius turned out to be all right. You should've seen Malfoy's face when Professor Dumbledore announced it. He'd had his heart set on getting rid of both of us."

"So am I. And your timing," Harry replied fervently, "is _perfect_."

"Well, I can hardly take credit for it, but thanks anyway." The first slices of toast popped, and Tom snatched them neatly from the air. "Butter these, or just keep them warm?"

"Butter, if you can catch it." Harry spared an irritated glance upward. "It's been flying around the ceiling since I got it out."

"And you call yourself a Seeker?" Still, there wasn't nearly enough room to fly a broomstick in the kitchen. Tom looked aroun the room speculatively, then spotted a small butter-yellow cowbell on one counter that, when he rang it, brought the butter to a sedate landing on its dish. "Aha. Logic wins out." 

"Ringing a bell to attract butter is logic?" 

"It's a cowbell. Butter is made from milk. Also, it's butter-colored."

"Oh. So it is." Harry hit one piece of toast accurately with a slightly crumpled piece of bacon he probably shouldn't have been throwing, eyed the plate where he'd put the rest, and shifted to cooking eggs.

The state of breakfast seemed to surprise everyone who came in about as much as it had Tom. He diligently ate as good a breakfast as he could manage, hampered only slightly by nerves and about as much by his orange's attempt to imitate a Snitch. 

Harry must have scared the bacon. It never did try to fly away.

The bells began jingling again at precisely five minutes to ten, whereupon Tom nearly fell out of his chair. He hastily swallowed the last bite of his toast without chewing it properly and followed Sirius to the door. 

"Good morning." Dumbledore beamed at them both, though his eyes were more serious when he turned them on Tom and added, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Professor." Tom gulped.

Sirius blinked down at him. "What on earth's going on? -- Or do I not want to know?"

Dumbledore smiled serenely. "You always want to know, Sirius."

"Well, yes, but--" He frowned, looking back and forth between Tom and Dumbledore. "Oh, all right, then, I won't ask. Just be careful."

"I assure you, I have no intention of letting Mr. Riddle come to harm." The assurance seemed somehow to be directed more at Tom himself.

Tom mustered a smile. "I'll be all right. And we should probably get going, right, Professor?"

"We should indeed. The goblins have graciously made arrangements for us to arrive by Portkey. If you will take hold, please." Dumbledore proffered a wrapped chocolate bar.

Tom blinked, shrugged, and took the end of the chocolate bar between his fingers.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then something jerked quite hard right at his center of gravity, and they were... somewhere else, in a small room of brilliantly white marble with a circle marked neatly on the floor around them and a goblin standing very stiffly outside it. Dumbledore took Tom by the shoulder to steady him, then bowed to the goblin. "Here we are. We greatly appreciate the convenience."

Tom blinked away the sudden disorientation and made a hasty bow as well, then glanced up at Professor Dumbledore, wondering what came next.

"I can see you," the goblin returned. "We appreciate your punctuality." He pointed a long finger at the circle, which rolled itself up and hopped into his hand. "I gather this boy is the one you've been representing?"

"He is."

"I must reiterate. This is most irregular."

"The circumstances are most irregular," Dumbledore pointed out.

"So they are." The goblin directed a severe glare in Tom's direction. "I have been instructed to convey you both to Long-Term Accounts Director Gnashtalon. This way, please."

Dumbledore stepped briskly after the goblin; Tom tried to soothe his own nerves by keeping in step and reminded himself that while he certainly wanted to be _polite_ to the goblins, it wasn't as if he had deliberately done anything for the purpose of inconveniencing them. 

Long-Term Accounts Director Gnashtalon proved to be a slightly fleshy goblin with an impeccably neat, pointed beard, in a slightly dank-smelling, very tidy office on the third floor of the bank. He came around his desk and nodded respectfully to Dumbledore as they entered. 

"I have reviewed the papers you sent me, Professor. I presume this is Mr. Tom Riddle?"

"Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle, yes. Currently on holiday from his second-year coursework at Hogwarts."

Gnashtalon returned to his desk and flipped open a very thick file folder. "And it is your contention, as I understand the matter, that young Mr. Riddle should have proprietary access to the vaults and accounts assigned to the Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle whose birth certificate, I see here, puts his date of birth as November the fourteenth, nineteen hundred and thirty-two? And, of course, the vaults and accounts assigned to the latterly-mentioned Mr. Riddle under various pseudonyms both within and without your wizarding laws, do excuse me for forgetting." Gnashtalon raised his eyebrows. "An unusual request. Most unusual." 

"Yes." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "As I have lately heard remarked, the situation is most irregular. If you will kindly refer to the several documents pertaining to descriptions of events on the evening of September first of this year, however, you will see that while there have been some interesting discontinuities -- including, it seems, approximately twelve years in a disembodied yet self-aware state -- there have been none in _existence_, and the Mr. Riddle we have here does in fact share an identity with the one in your records."

"My own investigations, however, indicate that there was a period of... we may call it 'overlap,' between the existences of this Mr. Riddle and the, ah, 'disembodied yet self-aware' entity who was the originator of the accounts; in the wake of his dissolution, policy dictated that access devolve on the owner's named representatives, and this we have done. The overlap, as I am sure you must realize, considerably clouds your assertion."

"It would, had it not been clearly established as well that during this period of 'overlap' the two were in fact sharing the same life-force, and the entity -- whom it may be simpler to call Voldemort, as he styled himself at the time -- expressly stated that our present Mr. Riddle was himself."

"Your sworn affidavit, and those of Mr. Severus Snape and Mr. Harry Potter, as well as the supporting documents on curse-scar theory presented by representatives of St. Mungo's Hospital do indeed present a very strong case." The goblin stroked his beard with neatly-trimmed talons and turned to Tom. "And yet I believe some further measure is required. Mr. Riddle, what do you know of the powers of goblins such as myself?"

Tom swallowed and took a deep breath. "Not very much, sir. I was raised in the Muggle world and if I did learn a great deal about the abilities of goblins, I'm afraid those memories were lost in the, ah, incident on September first."

Gnashtalon nodded. "As most wizards know, we goblins have a great affinity for hexes and curses." He smiled thinly. "What some do not know, to their misfortune, is that a goblin always knows when he is being cheated, or lied to, or played false. Break your word to a goblin, Mr. Riddle, and the goblin will seek recompense by any means within his power. This is a skill that has served us well many times over the centuries in our dealings with wizards."

He folded his arms across his chest and regarded Tom seriously. "I ask you to keep this ability in the forefront of your mind when you answer me. Regarding the events of September the first of this year, and touching on the matter of access to the vaults under my supervision, is it your assertion, to the best of your knowledge, that you and Tom Marvolo Riddle, called Lord Voldemort and various less-important aliases, are in fact one and the same person?"

Tom swallowed and sincerely hoped that he wasn't going to disappoint Professor Dumbledore and ruin everything with his answer. He could not -- honestly -- say that he was Voldemort, not when his whole second chance at life (not that he remembered the first one) was based on _not_ being, nor did he want to. But there was no doubt in his mind -- he couldn't let there be, because else he was no one, or not real -- that he was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he had no intention of giving _that_ up no matter what he thought of the man whose name he'd inherited or the man he'd once become.

"I don't remember ever calling myself Lord Voldemort," he said levelly, keeping his eyes fixed on Director Gnashtalon's and vaguely aware that his peripheral vision seemed to be dwindling away to whitish-grey blurs, "and I don't plan to. I don't remember all of what happened on September first of this year very well, but the first thing I do remember from that day is confusion because I wasn't where I thought I ought to be, and looking up at Voldemort and feeling sick because I knew somehow that that was me." He took a shaky breath. "As I understand it, I started out that evening as what was _meant_ to be an illusion representing Voldemort's younger self. But he did say that I was he, and I was alive and aware -- and still am -- instead of just an illusion. I don't think of myself as Voldemort, and I don't want to grow up the same way I -- I did the first time. I _am_ Tom Marvolo Riddle, though, and I was born on the fourteenth of November in nineteen-thirty-two. I'm myself."

He had to be, no matter what he thought of the man whose name he'd inherited or the man he'd once become. His whole chance at life, this time, was based on _not_ being Voldemort. But he had to be Tom Marvolo Riddle, because else he was no one at all, or not real.

Gnashtalon held Tom's gaze for a long moment, face expressionless, and then nodded slowly. "A very thorough answer, Mr. Riddle; had more wizards treated goblins with such honesty, the history between our two peoples might not have been quite so bloody." The goblin frowned thoughtfully, paged through a few of the documents in the file again, and then nodded. "My decision, which as Director of Long-Term Accounts is binding upon Gringotts Bank, is that the overlap period does not constitute sufficient doubt to overturn the remainder of the evidence here presented." He looked at Tom and allowed himself a bare smile. "You have been a very profitable customer for Gringotts Bank, Mr. Riddle; if I may be allowed a personal note, it is my hope that you will be a more congenial one from now on than you have been in the past."

Tom goggled for a few seconds about which he might later be embarrassed if he thought about them; for the moment, relief was too prominent in his mind. After insisting on his identity and closing his mouth, he'd been briefly and pessimistically convinced that he _had_ ruined everything -- not that he'd been able to give any other answer if he believed Gnashtalon. Somewhere, he hoped that he would have given the same one without the warning. It took him a moment to adjust and gather his wits to say, "I -- thank you very much, sir." He couldn't quite help smiling as he finished what he'd almost started with. "And I'll certainly try to be."

"Very good." The goblin pulled a ring of keys from a desk drawer, walked back around the desk, and solemnly proffered it to Tom. "I took the liberty of preparing these in the event that your suit proved successful; the original keys can be deactivated at your discretion should you no longer wish to retain the services of your usual representatives."

Tom took the ring and looked at it, or rather at the keys with which it bristled, with a feeling of mild alarm. There seemed to be an awful lot of them. This was not exactly either unexpected or bad, but it was a bit overwhelming. "Thank you," he replied to start out. "I really appreciate it." He swallowed and looked back up at Gnashtalon. "I don't remember designating representatives, though, and I'd rather not have ones I don't know about."

"Ah." Gnashtalon smiled a bit self-deprecatingly. "Habit, and policy; now that you have been proven to be the same person as the account originator, his actions regarding the accounts are your actions. Would you prefer to familiarize yourself with the accounts before making decisions?"

"Yes, please. I think that would help."

"Very well. I can have the account books brought up by one of my assistants, but they would take a great deal of explanation, and in any case...." He shrugged. "Like most goblins, I prefer to see the gold I'm counting. Would you care to see the vaults, sir?"

Tom blinked and stole a glance at Dumbledore, wishing -- not for the first time -- that he'd had a _little_ more time to do research. Any, in fact. A year and a half of trying valiantly to pay attention to Professor Binns really wasn't adequate preparation for wizarding (or rather, he supposed, goblining) banking. But as far as he could tell Gnashtalon, however unnerving he could be, was also being as helpful as possible.

Tom had to admit he was curious. And Dumbledore had just given him the slightest encouraging nod and smile. He thought.

"That would be good. Thank you." 

"Very good, sir. Follow me, please." Gnashtalon led the way through a narrow door at the back of his office to a small room, where something that looked like nothing less than a plushly-upholstered mine cart perched at the entrance to a dark tunnel.

The goblin smiled his self-deprecating smile again. "I started out in the transport carts when I was young, and never quite lost my taste for them. Please have a seat."

"I've always been quite fond of them myself," Dumbledore replied cheerfully as he folded himself into a seat. He added, as Tom perched beside him, "Hold on tight."

Tom was not entirely sure whether this meant to the cart or the key-ring.

The ride was long enough, and precipitous enough, that Tom finally concluded that Dumbledore had meant both; he was feeling faintly sick by the time they finally rolled to a stop at the entrance to a vault-lined hallway. Gnashtalon, his beard slightly windswept, swung open the cart's small door and led Tom to the first vault on the right. "Your artifact storage is three vaults down, in the higher-security area; deeds, stock certificates, and various other investment paperwork are kept on the left."

He indicated the first key on Tom's ring, heavy and black with complicated wards, then waved a hand toward the first vault. "This, five others in this row, and two in our Geneva branch, are your cash repositories."

Tom blinked at the goblin -- _five_ others? And two in Switzerland? -- and then moved to unlock the vault and swing open the door.

It was full of gold.

Tom was rich.


	4. Chapter 4 of 4

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling. No undue claim nor material profit is intended._

****

The Gift of the Magus  
by Alan Sauer  
and Persephone  
Chapter 4/4

He was rich.

Tom's mind was spinning, but it kept coming back down to that essential point. He'd never thought of it as a real possibility before. Oh, he'd dreamed about it, of course -- what poor orphan didn't? 

As he stared into the open vault, more gold than he'd ever known existed in one place, it occurred to him that Voldemort's followers had never really understood why their master had collected such wealth. Oh, certainly -- there were bribes, and experiments to be funded, and plans to be financed -- but beyond all the logical reasons, behind all the transformations and Dark magic, there had still been the little boy on the street corner, watching the big cars go by, and _wanting._

And on the heels of that realization came the understanding that he, Tom, knew something Voldemort had never known, or had forgotten. The little boy had often dreamed of a gift like this -- but Tom was grown enough to see past the glitter to the shadow underneath.

But it was still a wrench to look away from the shining gold, up into Dumbledore's impassive gaze, and say in a very small voice "I can't keep this."

Something flickered in the cool blue eyes, but just as Dumbledore set his hand on Tom's shoulder, Gnashtalon's voice said with some exasperation, "Don't tell me you've changed your mind _now_." 

Dumbledore glanced over, a tiny quirk at one corner of his mouth as he said politely, "I don't believe that was quite what he meant. If you could give us a moment to speak...?"

"Ah. Very well." Gnashtalon paused and turned to look up the track; Tom was still startled, despite this hint, when a second cart -- bearing another goblin and a large number of books -- racketed down and locked itself with a loud clang to the first. "You may consider your conversation private until such time as you require further action from me."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean that I want to give back access to the account," Tom said quietly. "I think it's even _more_ important the Death Eaters aren't able to use the money, as much as there is. But _I_ didn't do anything to deserve that money, and neither did Voldemort, probably, so it would be wrong to keep it. No matter how many problems it could solve."

"It had occurred to me that you might reach such a conclusion." Dumbledore's voice was low as well, though neither goblin gave the slightest sign of paying them any mind at all. "I might remind you that we are all born with assets that we have done nothing to deserve -- magic and intelligence among the most prominent if I may use you as an example. I suspect, however, that it is what Voldemort _did_ do to acquire it that concerns you."

"Well -- I don't think he got most of it from holding down a regular job, no."

"Actually, I can personally vouch for his having earned _some_ of it through assisting in experimental charms work for a time immediately after finishing Hogwarts and before he... disappeared. You may be aware that Harry's mother later went into the same field. I have wondered at times whether he recognized his own hand in the groundwork for some of the very spells she later developed for use against him. On the other hand, you are quite likely correct that along with that and any other period of employment, and assorted investments, many of his gains were almost certainly obtained by measures illegal or at the least unsavory." Dumbledore regarded Tom thoughtfully. "May I ask what it is you propose to do?"

"Well... since I'm sure his followers were going to use it to hurt people, I think it would be best to try and help people with it." Tom furrowed his brow. "Could I set up, I don't know, a fund for people Voldemort hurt, or their families?" The cart of account books caught his eye. "And send the Ministry copies of those, in case they can be evidence." He grinned. "As a Christmas present from me."

"You could indeed." And that was respect in Dumbledore's eyes -- wasn't it? "I'm sure the suitable departments of the Ministry would be grateful, if distinctly disconcerted. I also know that Gringotts does provide services for charitable funds, though you would most probably need to consult with other parties to direct the disbursements to appropriate recipients -- it isn't the sort of information they would have. I can assist you with finding that information." A brief pause. "I do believe that there are portions you could perhaps use for yourself without qualms -- perhaps for whatever problems you referred to solving -- but that is your decision to make, not mine, and might be best made after you are more familiar with the current disposal of the accounts."

"Maybe some of the money that came from the Charms work." Tom frowned thoughtfully for a moment and then turned to the goblins. "Director Gnashtalon? I think I'd like that explanation of the accounts now. Especially if you can explain where the money came from and who's been using the accounts."

The goblin smiled and waved a hand toward the cart of account books. "Yes, of course. I believe you will find the volume at the top of the pile, bound in blue, to be the most helpful, as it contains the index to the transaction records and a summary of the account history, and I will be only too happy to walk you through it. Most of the current income is the result of several shrewd investments, including but by no means limited to a sizeable share in Nimbus Brooms, made by a Mr. Roland Avery, your former financial manager." Gnashtalon frowned thinly. "I am afraid that Mr. Avery often chose not to disclose the sources of new starting capital; while this was certainly within his rights, it has caused a great deal of irritation among our records staff."

Tom nodded and reached a bit hesitantly for the blue tome; Gnashtalon set it in his hands (where it turned out to be even heavier than it looked) and then pointed toward the wall, which sprouted a table and two benches. With the book laid open on the table, Gnashtalon seated himself across from Tom and Dumbledore, marked his place on the page with one long finger, and proceeded to be extremely helpful with every appearance of enjoyment and no apparent difficulty in reading the figures upside-down.

After the lengthy explanation and the discussion which followed, Tom found himself the proud owner of half a vault of gold, several profitable investments including, he was pleased to note, twelve percent ownership of Nimbus Brooms, and a frighteningly thorough understanding of wizarding finance. 

Gnashtalon escorted them to the front door of the bank, gave Tom his personal assurances that an appropriate fund would be organized and funded with the rest of the monetary assets, dispatched several assistants to the Ministry with copies of the account records, bid polite farewell, and left Tom standing with Dumbledore on the front steps of Gringotts Bank feeling like he'd just been plowed into the turf by a particularly urbane Bludger.

Dumbledore looked up at the sky, then down at something in his hand that looked like a cross between a pocketwatch and a very bad model of the solar system. "I believe," he remarked, "that it is time for lunch. Would you prefer dessert first, last, or instead?"

"Er..." Tom blinked. "Lunch. Right. After, if you don't mind, Professor. I think I need something solid first."

"Very sensible. This way, I think." Dumbledore led the way to a small restaurant which at first appeared not to have a name but which Tom eventually determined, after some confusion that could probably have been a great deal worse if Dumbledore had wanted it to be, was called Nothing At All. The food was very good, though the transparent floor and the space beneath it resulted in a rather disconcerting moment when Tom's chicken sandwich arrived just as a live chicken wandered through underfoot.

Tom looked up from the last of his sandwich to find Dumbledore's eyes twinkling at him from over the old wizard's napkin. He regarded Tom for a moment after cleaning the last crumbs from his beard, then smiled. "Before we go and sample some of Florean Fortescue's best, I do have one more question."

"Yes, sir?"

"When you were numbering your reasons for not accepting the money--and please believe me when I say this, Tom, that I have seldom been more proud of one of my students--you said 'no matter how many problems it would solve.' What problems did you mean?"

"Oh." Tom briefly wished he had part of his lunch left as an excuse to pay attention to something else -- though he did considerably prefer _that_ sort of comment to the occasional whisper that Dumbledore had only let him back into Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. "Well -- things like robes, textbooks of my own... Christmas presents." 

Dumbledore nodded. "I must confess I did hope that _some_ of the money would be safe for you to keep, for those very reasons." He smiled. "Perhaps, after dessert, if you wish, we could return to Gringotts briefly and then attend to your Christmas shopping."

Tom couldn't quite help grinning back. "That would be great."

"Excellent." Dumbledore actually grinned back; it was startling, behind that much beard. "I've always loved Christmas shopping."

*****

Tom was aware, somewhat vaguely, that it might be traditional for children to have trouble sleeping for a normal amount of time immediately before Christmas Day. He had never actually experienced it himself, however, and in fact after a brief period of nerves over whether his friends would _like_ what he had got them, he told himself that where he didn't know them well enough to be reasonably sure, he had picked out relatively safe things, and went to sleep. 

He woke up much earlier than he had expected, however, because apparently Sirius was too excited to sleep and set off all the bells again.

Upon joining everyone else (without consulting the map, by this time), Tom noticed that there was an orange flying at him. As he was getting used to unruly food by this point, he caught it and continued down the invisible spiral, noticing additionally along the way that Hermione's pink bathrobe was clashing happily and enthusiastically with Weasley hair and many of the decorations, and that the tree somehow looked very proud of itself.

Sirius leapt out from underneath the couch in a state of terminal good cheer, waving a plate of biscuits and buttered rolls around carelessly and bellowing "Happy Christmas!" at the top of his lungs. Remus followed more placidly on his heels, and bid them all good morning before settling into an overstuffed armchair, calmly tripping Sirius into another one as he passed by, and asking "So, presents first, or breakfast?"

"Presents," Harry proposed, laughing. "And apparently dessert," he added with a glance at the plate.

"Proper Christmas breakfast, this is," Sirius asserted. "And of course presents first, Moony, what are we, barbarians?"

"Hungry." Remus snatched a biscuit and a roll, then flourished his wand with his free hand and sent the gifts sorting themselves politely out by recipient. 

This turned out to be a fairly lengthy process, and Tom was amazed at the size of the pile that assembled itself in front of him. Gifts from Harry and Ginny he'd more-or-less expected, from hints they'd dropped. Hermione he'd been less sure of, and the bright-orange package from Ron came as a complete surprise, as did a neatly-wrapped gift from Professor Lupin and a cheerfully messy one from Sirius.

Something about the shape of that last one, underneath the odd corners of paper, looked suspiciously familiar. Tom unwrapped it and couldn't help laughing -- it was a very nice quill, and quite remarkably similar to the ones he'd settled on giving to the two adults. 

Sirius eyed him quizzically. "Didn't expect to get a laugh out of _that_ one."

"Well, open yours, then." He smiled a little uncertainly. "I think it was the next one over in the display."

"Ah!" Sirius saluted him after a moment with the feather. "Excellent taste. I've always liked this line myself."

"Glad you like it. I wasn't sure--" 

Tom was abruptly cut off by Ron's whoop of joy and Harry's awed "Oh, wow, _Sirius_...."

If Tom had noticed the shape of the package Harry had just opened, he might have made a guess about the contents. He hadn't -- but he definitely recognized them now. 

Sirius was grinning. "Like it?"

Harry spluttered. "Are you _kidding_? This is -- you -- a _Firebolt_?"

The grin broadened. "Call it making up for lost time."

Tom rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "As if it weren't hard enough _already_ to beat you to the Snitch."

Then it occurred to him that as part owner of the company he might be able to get a discount on one of his own.

"It wasn't," Harry opined cheerfully.

Hermione interrupted the proceedings by discovering that Tom had given her a book, saying "Ooh," and opening it up to read. 

"Ack! Hermione!" Ron flipped it closed, drawing an indignant squawk, and shot a mock dirty look at Tom. At least Tom hoped it was mock. "You can read _after_ we're done!"

"It's a new one about the Patronus," Tom said. "The Hogwarts library doesn't have it yet -- wish they had, it might have helped."

Hermione looked up sheepishly. "I got you one on the Patronus Charm too -- a history of it and related spells, actually. I didn't see _this_ one." 

"I think it was only just out, actually...."

"See, this is what comes of planning too far ahead." Ron shook his head. "Bit on everyone's mind, was it?"

"More than I realized, clearly." Professor Lupin sounded somewhat amused. "I gather Harry was the only one who thought to ask me about it?"

"It's really advanced," Tom said earnestly. "I thought you'd tell me to stop."

Lupin covered his eyes briefly. "I remember _that_ attitude all too well but cannot approve of it in a professional capacity. Sirius, don't snort. The worst hazard of the Patronus Charm, however, if studied _away_ from Dementors, is generally exhaustion."

Hermione laughed. "We found that out on our own."

"This must have been an interesting study group. Did you ever manage it properly?"

"I can do a fairly good mist," Tom volunteered. "All the reading suggested it's quite a lot harder to call one with no imminent danger."

"True -- though conversely with a Dementor about it can be difficult to summon and hold a suitable memory." Professor Lupin eyed them speculatively. "I'd be happy to assist if any of you would like to go on with slightly more formal extracurricular training."

"Well, there's not really a need anymore with the Dementors gone." Tom grinned. "But it's really interesting, so I'd like to give it a try anyway."

"So would I," Hermione said earnestly. "It still seems potentially useful even if it isn't _urgent_ now."

"Maybe we can make it a study group topic." Tom glanced over to Ginny questioningly. "If you want to try too, anyway. And if Peony wants to."

"That sounds good," Ginny agreed, peeling one of her own packages open without looking. Tom grinned when she _did_ look at it and the graphorn-shaped inkwell he'd picked out grunted at her. "Oh! That's lovely."

"It's full, but it's all right if you want to turn it over. Doesn't spill, and it seems to like it if you tickle its belly."

"A ticklish graphorn?" She grinned at him. "Thank you. ...Open mine?"

"All right." Ginny's present was rather soft, and made no noise when he gave it a cautious shake; he tore open the paper to reveal a thick wad of cloth that unfolded into a green-and-silver knit scarf. A yarn bookmark in the same colors, weighted by a carved wooden Slytherin crest, fell out as he unfolded the scarf. He grinned. "This is great, Ginny, thanks."

"You have no idea how odd it felt carving that snake," she said wryly. "I'm glad you like it." Mischievously, she added, "You might _need_ it if we get a chance for a snowball fight."

He blinked. "You made this? Yourself?"

"Oh. Yes. Mum taught me. I never practiced enough until the year before Hogwarts, though; it was odd with all the boys gone." 

"Oh. Well -- thanks." He smiled wryly. "I was about to say it's the first time anyone's made something just for me, but it's the second, really."

"Is it?" She was absent-mindedly petting the graphorn, which was perhaps overly lively for an inkwell -- probably why it had been enchanted against spilling.

"Well, yeah." He shrugged. "You all made the photo album too." Tom folded the scarf carefully and then busied himself with a roll.

Ginny smiled at him; Ron, meanwhile, had unwrapped an owl perch and was regarding it with some bewilderment. 

"Professor Dumbledore said you might like it," Tom said around his roll. "Maybe it's for, erm, is it Errol?"

"I think Errol would knock it over," Ron said dubiously. "You haven't seen him land, probably."

Sirius laughed again. "Professor Dumbledore is a bit of a sneak," he said admiringly, then whistled. Ron was assaulted almost immediately by a small fluffball.

"What the --" Ron flailed around and finally managed to catch hold of the little brown blur when it flew into his outstretched hand with a soft smack and a surprised hoot; it turned out to be a tiny owl, which trilled proudly upon finding itself the center of attention.

Ron blinked at it, then looked quickly over to Sirius. "This is for me? Cool!"

"He's a little flighty," Sirius said without a trace of irony, "but he's a good little owl and he'll only get better." A lopsided grin. "Thought you might like a pet again."

"Yeah, absolutely. If he's any good at mail he'll be perfect." Ron chewed his lip for a moment before suddenly getting up and, with a quelling glare for Hermione, holding out the little owl for Crookshanks to sniff. "Better get this crazy animal used to him right from the start."

Crookshanks smelled the mouse-sized owl, then half-shut his eyes, purred loudly, and strolled into Hermione's lap.

"Right, then." Ron flopped back down next to his pile of presents and regarded the owl. "What're we going to call you, then? Snitch, maybe?"

"Cute but likely to get Quidditch discussions interrupted at odd moments. Pigwidgeon?" Ginny proposed. 

"No _way,_ Ginny, that's --" Ron was interrupted as the little owl surged out of his hand and flew dizzyingly around Ginny's head before settling on her shoulder. "Oh, _now_ you've done it. I'm not calling him any name bigger than he is. Get back here and stay on your perch, Pig."

Pigwidgeon trilled. Ginny carefully picked him up and transferred him to the perch. 

Tom returned to his own gifts and managed to unwrap a book on recent Muggle history from Remus and a pair of blindingly orange socks from Ron (which proved, on inspection, to have the Chudley Cannons logo on the tops of the feet) before Pigwidgeon came over to investigate. He handed the owl back again and held up the socks. "Uh-oh. Looks like I'm being recruited." 

"Yeah." Ron looked up from settling the owl again and grinned. "They could a reserve Seeker."

"They could use more than that, from what I hear." Tom grinned. "But thanks."

"They'll show everybody next year."

Ginny laughed. "You've said that every year since I can remember, Ron. They haven't yet."

"Well, this is the year!" Ron fished a scarf that matched the socks out of the wrapping paper and looped it defiantly around his neck.

Sirius chuckled. "Always had a soft spot for the Cannons myself, though I couldn't admit to it around James, of course. I did manage to wear my Cannons socks to the Puddlemere/Chudley matches, though. I think you're next, Harry."

Tom recognized the package Harry picked up next and studiously didn't _quite_ watch as the paper came off and a warm rosy glow started to show through the tissue paper in the box. 

He'd had a hard time figuring out what to give Harry. Dumbledore had been remarkably patient about wandering around Diagon Alley until the phoenix paperweight in a nest of dancing flames that didn't burn had caught Tom's eye. It wasn't, perhaps, the most practical gift possible. But it had seemed to suit.

When it caught the morning sunlight through the window, it raised its head and trilled quiet song, and Tom finally looked at Harry and shrugged. "Reminded me of September."

"That's... wow." Harry blinked at it. "...It really sounds like phoenix-song."

"That's what Professor Dumbledore said. The man in the shop said it doesn't have the same effect on people, though."

"Suppose not. But still." 

Harry went over and set the paperweight carefully on the windowsill, which seemed to please it.

"It reminds me of Fawkes," Ginny said, very carefully not looking at Harry; her cheeks were slightly pink. "However did you afford it, Tom?"

"Well...." This was terribly odd to explain, somehow. "Remember that errand Professor Dumbledore came and got me to run, right at the beginning of holidays? It was to... well, to talk to the goblins at Gringotts and get Voldemort's accounts out of the hands of the Death Eaters. Most of it, I'm trying to get back to... where it belongs really, or as close as can be managed now, but it turns out he actually did do honest work for a little while." He shrugged. "So I can... pay for my own things now, and so on."

"That's wonderful." Ginny smiled. "No more library textbooks. And if anybody was still wondering if you'd turn out like Voldemort, well, this ought to show them."

Harry laughed and handed Tom a very small package. "Hardly seems like you need this now, but Happy Christmas anyway."

Tom blinked at this perplexing comment and unwrapped the package to find... a key. "What --"

"It's to here."

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

Sirius chuckled. "It's the spare key to the house. Harry thought you'd appreciate having a place to stay in case you needed somewhere to go, and no one has ever truthfully accused me of being unable to see sense, so I had another key made. We'll keep your room for you."

"Oh." It came out oddly strangled; Tom had to swallow before he could say anything else, and he wished just for the moment that he hadn't got everybody's attention with that explanation a minute ago. "I -- I do. Thank you." 

"Well, we've plenty of room here." Sirius grinned. "And unless I miss my guess you'll have a few options when it comes to places to stay. This is just one of them."

He never used to. It had always been... Hogwarts or the orphanage, and Hogwarts was in some ways still a little new to him. Having people invite him _home_ with them was different. 

Especially, perhaps, after Voldemort.

"You realize," he said slowly, eyes sliding up to meet Sirius's as he turned the key over in his hand again, "Professor Snape would be horrified."

Sirius laughed. "That's a bonus." He looked around the room. "And if that's everything, we can try for a more substantial breakfast if anyone wants it."

This suggestion was met with considerable enthusiasm; Tom hesitated a little and hung back when everyone else had vanished beneath the couch. 

He was... incredibly lucky, to have fallen in with this lot of mad Gryffindors who had been willing to give him a chance before he'd really had time to prove himself. He was still going to, of course; he was going to fix the eerie isolation Slytherin House seemed to have developed at Hogwarts, as well as repairing whatever he could of the rest of the damage his other self had done.

He might not, technically, need it now. But the key in his hand now meant more than the whole ring of them from Gringotts.

"Tom?" Ginny peered out from under the couch at him. "Planning to eat with us?"

"Coming." He grinned and followed her down.

*****


End file.
